To Catherine, From Prison
by trallgorda
Summary: Based on the episode Nor Iron Bars A Cage. I saw it more than 10 years ago, so bear with me on this. Vincent captured by scientists and locked up!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

He woke, wondering why he was in such agony. His mouth and throat were dry, his head pounding with all the force of a subway train, and every joint in his body on fire. It felt as if he'd been crammed into a jar that was far too small. What on earth was wrong? Why wasn't he in bed? Why couldn't he hear the constant tapping pipes? Why did the air feel wrong here? Where were all the familiar smells?

Slowly, he pulled one gummy eyelid open, and the blurry world around him shifted into focus. He quickly closed his eye again. For one terrifying second, he saw something in front of him that he'd been praying that he'd never see.

Bars. And a strange room beyond. Bars!

How had he ended up here?

Frantically, he thought back through his memories, trying to figure out what had happened to him. He had just left Catherine, telling her that the best thing for the both of them would be for her to go to Providence and take that job offer. It had nearly killed him to say it, but he couldn't hold her in a place where she wouldn't be happy. Then, while he'd been walking despondently towards the tunnel that would lead him home, he'd heard an odd sound and felt a sting in his chest. When he looked at what hit him, he felt panic first, and then his survival skills went into play.

What had stung him had been a tranquilizer dart. He knew what they were, of course, he'd seen them in the encyclopedia. As he began to dash toward safety, another dart hit his back, and he pulled that one out just as ruthlessly as he had the other. The last thing he remembered was seeing the ground rushing up at him very, very quickly, and then darkness.

How long had he been here? How long had he been missing? Oh, no. Father would be worried out of his mind! When he got home, he would have to deal with a very angry and half-frantic old man who would hold onto his shoulders, demand to know if Vincent was planning on sending him to an early grave, and then hug him. And Catherine. Catherine would be worried sick! What was he going to do?

First, before he could deal with a worried father and lady-love, he had to find out where he was and who had brought him here. Why didn't matter. It would have to do with what he looked like, so he wouldn't have to try finding that out. Well, that was one good thing about having a face like his! He'd always know why people kidnapped him!

_Pull yourself together, Vincent,_ he told himself sternly, fighting down feelings of panic and hysteria. _Find out where you are first, and who brought you here._

Slowly, very slowly, he managed to get his eyes open and creak his way into a sitting position instead of remaining on his side. What he saw was not comforting in the least. He was in a cage that was about the size of a very large packing crate. It reminded him of the cabinet that Mouse had brought home to store things in. It was large enough for him to lie down in and stand up in, and maybe pace a little, but beyond that, there wasn't much space. In the corner of the cage farthest away from him were a bucket of water and a bowl of what looked like fruit. Ignoring the fruit, he went for the water, working against joints that refused to bend the way they should and muscles that were stiff from sleep. Scooping some up in his hand, he drank only enough to wet his mouth and throat in spite of his body crying out for more. He knew he was dehydrated, but it would be worse for him if he made himself sick by drinking the whole bucket at once. One more mouthful, and he felt more like himself.

_Although I have to admit I feel rather like Lazarus arising from the dead_, he thought to himself. _I had no idea I could still feel so lethargic. Do I still have some drug in my system?_

Slowly, very slowly, he worked his way to his feet, holding onto the bars to give him support additional to that supplied by his very wobbly legs. Knees shaking, he stood up, drawing himself upright and feeling every joint in his body snap into place with tiny, audible _cracks._ That argued for his sleeping a very long time without moving, perhaps a day or longer.

Oooh. He didn't want to think about what Father would say to him when he got home after being gone that long. He'd probably have to hide for the rest of his life in order to avoid being killed.

He lifted his head and looked around, staring around the room. There was a computer on a paper-littered desk in the corner, as well as a table full of scientific and medical equipment in the center of the room. A fogged window let in a little daylight, so it was daytime now. In a plastic bin on a corner of that table were several things that looked very familiar to Vincent. Craning his neck, he managed to see what they were, and he was furious! They were all the things he'd had in his pockets! Oh, those brazen thieves! He couldn't wait until he got his claws on them!

One of his knees gave way, and he fell to the floor of the cage with a loud thud. Almost in answer, a few moments afterward a door opened, showing an older, greedy-eyed man who regarded him with all the tenderness of a jackal. Following him was a slightly younger man with an uncertain air who looked at him as if he weren't sure of what he were seeing.

"Ah, good. He's awake, Hughes. Let's see what there is to see, hmm?"

Vincent stayed very still as the first man approached the cage and crouched down in front of it. The way the man was looking at him made Vincent want to back away, but he remained where he was, daring them with his eyes to do anything to him. That stare had frightened off more than one person, but it failed to have an effect on this man.

The man looked him over, and Vincent wondered if he should try to grab hold of this man and force him to open the cage, but before he could act on this notion the man moved away and fetched a folder from the desk and opened it, reading what was inside. "All right..." he said in a quiet undertone. "'Specimen is a bipedal organism whose movement is primarily similar a human's. Blood sample, not human, species unknown...hair sample...uknown...skin sample...unknown. Saliva sample shows evidence of specimen's last meal to consist of protein, vegetable matter, and some carbohydrates, so specimen is omnivorous. Wears a variety of clothing, some of it patchwork and put together. Of note, the long cloak and hood and hand-knit sweater. Weight, one hundred-seventy pounds. Height, six-foot-two. Anatomically male, aside from the thick growth of fur over seventy percent of the body, seemingly human. Heart rate and blood pressure indicate healthy human resting rate. Dental and manual examination show that he has the majority of human teeth but some feline teeth are apparent, most notably in the canine region. Hands have four digits with an opposable thumb on each hand, evidence of claws that are clearly for defense and other possible usages as tools. Manual examination also yielded evidence of hands being used for much climbing. Pedal examination yielded human feet with a human's range of motion but both have a thick layer of callus on the soles, indicating a great deal of time spent walking, and possibly over rough terrain. Examination of eyes shows no evidence of a tapetum lucidium, usually present in cats, which suggests subject has visual range of a human. Testing of hearing has not been conclusive, later testing with subject's cooperation will be needed to ascertain aural acuity. X-rays show skeleton and facial structure to be that of a human. Vocal examination shows presence of vocal folds and some utterances have been made by the specimen, but nothing that could be called actual speech. Tongue shaped like a human's. At capture, the subject was heard to roar and growl, suggesting animal origin. After administration of tranquilizer darts at time of capture, subject slept a total of ten hours before additional drugs were administered to allow testing to continue.' Now we can add that the specimen has awoken after another..." he checked his watch, and jotted down the time. "Another ten hours. Seems he's as regular as a clock, Hughes."

Vincent felt his heart thumping painfully fast. He'd been missing twenty hours? Father would be frantic by now! They'd be searching all of Below for him, and Father would have the Helpers looking for him Above. Even worse, Father would be angry at Catherine for luring him out of the Tunnels in the first place last night. Oh, what was he going to do?

"What do you think, Dr. Gould?" the younger man asked, looking to where Vincent crouched in the cage.

"Well, I have to admit I've never seen anything like him before, not even in my dreams," Gould said, closing the folder with a snap. "We've done all the tests we can while he was asleep, let's see what we can learn about him while he's awake and comparatively lucid. Let's see how he responds to someone talking to him."

At that, Dr. Gould stood in front of Vincent's cage and introduced himself and Dr. Hughes as if they had just entered the room instead of being there for the last ten minutes discussing him as they had actually been doing. After Gould stated both of their names, Vincent gave him a polite nod, but that simple gesture sent both of the men over the comparative edge. Gould dropped the folder he was holding, and Hughes, who had been perched on the edge of the desk, promptly fell off.

"Dr. Gould, do you think he understands that he's just been introduced to us?" Hughes gasped, picking himself up.

"I think so," the doctor said, staring at Vincent. "Hughes, take notes, will you? Jot down everything he does."

Vincent wondered if he should speak or not, but something in Gould's eyes decided him against it. He didn't want the man know that he could speak and that he was intelligent. Something told him that it would be better to hide what he could do, but he didn't know why he felt that way. He shifted his position and sat cross-legged on the floor of the cage while Hughes hurriedly scribbled everything he'd done. He could imagine it: "Specimen changed position and sat cross-legged. Indicates restlessness or possible contortionist talent." He fought down a smile and prayed that Hughes hadn't noticed it. He sat patiently while Gould told him that he was in a lab in a place called Columbia University. Vincent just looked at him at that bit of intelligence. Columbia? All right, if he could just figure out where the nearest entrance to Below was...

Gould stood up, surprising him. "Hughes, I'm going to get the visual response cards and the hearing equipment from my car. You keep an eye on him, and if he becomes restless, give him another shot of pentobarbital. Better to have him asleep than have one of us slashed up."

Hughes nodded as Gould made his way out and then focused a gimlet stare on Vincent. Vincent waited until Gould's footsteps had faded before getting another drink of water and taking a deep breath. If he was going to appeal to this man to be let out, it had to be while Gould was not in the room. But what could he say that this man would believe?

"Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage," he heard himself quoting suddenly.

Hughes' head snapped up and stared at him. "What? Did...did you say something?"

Vincent lifted his head and looked Hughes right in the eye before continuing:

"Stone walls do not a prison make,  
Nor iron bars a cage;  
Minds innocent and quiet take  
That for an hermitage;  
If I have freedom in my love  
And in my soul am free,  
Angels alone, that soar above,  
Enjoy such liberty.

It's from Richard Lovelace, _To Althea, From Prison._ I should think that you would know it."

Hughes dropped his notebook. "Oh, Lord. It's finally happened, I'm going crazy," he began. "A specimen is quoting poetry from British Lit 102 at me. Too many hours at the office, Hughes, not enough sleep and too much coffee..."

"You're not going crazy," Vincent told him, holding onto the bars of the cage in his eagerness to convince him. "I am speaking. It just seemed that that verse seemed particularly apt, given the situation. I am in a cage, after all."

"You speak? Why didn't you speak before when Dr. Gould was here?" Hughes demanded, still staring at Vincent.

"I do not like him, and he makes me nervous. I don't think he would see me as a person if I spoke to him. You, however, do not find difficult to think of me as a person, I think."

Hughes did not seem to know what to do with this information. Then, to Vincent's vast chagrin, he started spouting questions. "Where do you come from? What are you? Do you have a name? Are there others like you?"

"I can't really tell you," Vincent said, trying to calm his rising sense of panic. "There are some things I have to keep secret. Please, I can't stay here. I have to get home. Could you let me out? Please?"

Hughes stared at him. "You're crazy, right? You're the biggest discovery of Dr. Gould's career, and mine! I can't just let you out!" Then, he stopped and shook his head, as if thinking to himself. "Perhaps you're parrotting things you've heard..."

"Parrotting?" Vincent said in disbelief. "How can I be parrotting all of this? How can I be talking like this to you now? I am a _person_, not some animal you can keep locked up to examine! You have to let me go! This is kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment!" By this point, his head was beginning to pound terribly. He rubbed his left temple, wishing for the pain to stop.

"Head hurting you?" Hughes asked, watching him.

"Yes. What was that in the darts?"

"A tranquilizer called pentobarbital," Hughes told him. "It's used for sedation and muscle relaxation, and it's also an anesthetic and hypnotic. I'm surprised, though, that it took two darts to bring you down. Usually, one dart would have done it for a full-grown man."

"I had adrenalin to keep me awake a little longer," Vincent told him, still massaging his temple. "The moment that dart hit me was one of the most terrifying in my life. I thought someone had shot me." He stopped and chuckled. "Well, if you want to be technical, someone had, but that's not important. I have to go home. Please let me out."

Hughes was about to answer, but footsteps approaching warned them both to fall silent. Vincent saw that there was no help to be had from Hughes, so he resigned himself to wait a little longer. Gould came in, set his things down, and asked Hughes to report what had gone on in his absence.

"He just rubbed at his head a little bit, made a few noises," Hughes said, sounding nonchalant. "Nothing we haven't heard before."

Vincent stared right into Hughes eyes, clearly giving him the message, _See? You don't trust him, either. If you had, you would have told him everything._

"All right," Gould said, setting up what Vincent supposed to be the hearing equipment and then moving it to the floor in front of the cage. He was busy with the settings when Vincent's hand shot out and grabbed his neck, his other hand reaching for the keys Gould wore on his belt. Gould gargled something at Hughes, and Hughes, while Vincent struggled with Gould, fetched a handgun-type device, pressed it against Vincent's shoulder, and pulled the trigger. A tiny _fwish_ of air and another dart had piereced his skin. Vincent slumped in the cage, his hands letting go of Gould, and slowly, his eyes closed. Before blackness and oblivion descended, Vincent heard Gould remark to Hughes, "Well, he certainly knew what keys were for."

Space

Father paced his room, his mind filled with a dozen possibilities, each of them more unlikely than the last. Vincent would never stay away this long, at least not without sending word of some kind, and he certainly would not have been Above in daylight! All of Below had been searched, and there was nothing, so there was only one place that Vincent could be: Catherine's.

He left his room, told someone where he was going, and walked to Catherine's entrance as quickly as he could. He made his way to her apartment, praying that she would be there. It was late, after she got home from work, so she should be there. He tapped, and she opened her door immediately.

"Father? Wh-what are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"Yes, something is wrong," he said, going inside quickly as she stood aside for him to enter. "Vincent is missing. He hasn't been seen since he left to talk with you last."

Catherine sat down very quickly in a chair, looking pale. "He hasn't?"

"No. Vincent was not himself after he spoke with you," Jacob told her.

"About my going away?" she asked, still very white.

"Mmm-hmm," he said, remembering his last time speaking with Vincent.

_Vincent had just told him about Catherine's plans to move to Providence, and he was quick to try to assuage his grief._

_"Vincent, the pain you feel now will lessen in time and finally pass. That I promise you," he'd said, giving his son's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze._

_"So, the best I can hope for is to forget her? Forget everything? Mine was another life before Catherine! I'm changed...forever!"_

_Jacob, trying to help Vincent to see things in a better light quickly said, "All right, then accept the change. Learn from it, but you must let the woman follow her own path, Vincent...for your sake."_

_All Vincent had done in answer was shake his head. "These are only words, Father...shades of feeling...they offer no consolation." With that, he'd fled the tunnels, heading somewhere else. Jacob had called after him, but he had not returned._

"I'm only doing what we both thought best," Catherine said, bringing his thoughts back into the present, obviously fighting tears.

"Once, I thought I knew the answer, but no longer," Jacob said after a moment's silence, startling her. "My son is a different man since he met you, and if I can actually say it, he is happier. I had thought that his knowing you could only bring him pain, but that does not seem to be the case. If he comes here, tell him that we're all worried and want him to come home."

Catherine nodded and saw him to the door, but as he reached it, she stopped him. "Why did you come to tell me?"

"Because I know you care," Jacob admitted. "I think I've known that since he found you that night."

With that, the old man was gone, and Catherine headed to her room to change. She was not going to stay and pace about her apartment worrying, oh, no! She was going out there to find him, and once she'd found him she'd give him a big hug and then a piece of her mind for worrying everyone so much. Hopefully, he was just hiding out somewhere.

She had no idea of where he really was, but she was going to find out very shortly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Vincent dreamed of when he'd been younger, and scenes of past years played out in his head. There he was with Father, reading Shakespeare and acting out the parts, being nursed by his Father and Ellie when he'd been sick, and later, Catherine made appearances, talking with him and sitting with him, her arm holding him close. He leaned against her shoulder, feeling as if he'd found Heaven, but in the next moment Heaven was torn away. Hunters were after him and they were going to lock him up! He heard Father calling to him, telling him to run home, but he was not able to move a step. The hunters advanced, closing in on him with their guns, and he screamed for Father to help him, but to Vincent's horror, he did not answer. Next, he heard Catherine telling him to run, but as he turned to face her, he saw the hunters pointing their guns at her! He shouted her name, trying to warn her, but she did not heed him. In an explosion of a shot, he went back to the waking world.

"I'm telling you, Hughes, I heard him speak!" Gould was saying, taking out some recording equipment.

"But we were in the other room, Dr. Gould," Hughes said patiently. "It could have been someone in another part of the building."

"Are you sure you heard nothing?" Gould demanded, turning to face his colleague.

"I didn't hear anything at all," Hughes told him, helping him with the equipment. "But if you want to try recording, I'll help."

"Certainly," Gould said, sounding much more satisfied now that things were going his way.

"By the way, what did you hear?" Hughes asked, interested.

"I heard him say the words 'Father' and 'Catherine.'"

Hughes stared at Gould. "Father? Catherine?"

"That's what I heard," Gould assured him.

Vincent saw Hughes sneak a look at him, and he started at seeing Vincent awake. "Sir, he's conscious."

"Good," Gould said, finishing with the recorder. "Let's see if he'll talk to us." He went and stood in front of the cage, but Vincent noticed that he stood well out of reach. "I know you can speak," Gould told him. "I want you to answer my questions. While you were asleep you said the words 'Father' and 'Catherine.' Who are they? What is your name? Where do you come from?"

Vincent said nothing.

"Come now," Gould said, suddenly acting kind. "You can talk to us. Tell us your name."

Vincent decided not to remind the good doctor that anyone who would lock someone up in a cage was not a person that that individual would want to talk to.

"How old are you? Is there anything different you'd like to eat?"

_Why yes, _Vincent thought wickedly. _I'd like some chicken carbonara over pasta, cream of broccoli soup, a slice of chocolate cake for dessert, and to drink I'll have some raspberry iced tea._ He wondered what Gould would make of _that_ request!

Gould turned away and went to Hughes' side to consult with him, and Vincent allowed himself to think about Father. If that drug had put him under for another ten hours, then he'd been missing for about thirty hours now. Father would be ready to kill him or weep over him when he got home, and William, the kind man who did most of the cooking for the Tunnels, would be making his favorite stew in an attempt to lure him home. His mouth watered, remembering that stew, and he wished he had a big bowl of it in front of him. It would be thick with carrots, potatoes, cubes of beef, peas, and the gravy was joy in a spoon.

A sudden blow to the cage frightened him enough that he jumped back and growled in a defensive gesture, but he kept himself from speaking only with Herculean effort. It appeared Gould had been trying to frighten him into speaking by banging the cage with a metal bar. While Vincent waited for his heartbeat to return to normal Gould discussed options with Hughes.

"Perhaps we could get him to respond with pain?" Gould was suggesting. "There's a cattle prod somewhere in the building…"

_They're playing games with my head and trying to scare me into speaking,_ Vincent told himself firmly. _What sadists._

He ignored them and closed his eyes in an attempt to get his head to stop pounding so much. That pentobarbital was really starting to bother him. If anything, his headache was worse, and the only time he had any relief from the pain was when he was asleep. He was thirsty, so he drank some water, ignoring the two men who had moved into the next room to argue. He curled up in a corner, leaning against the bars, and closed his eyes, willing his headache to deepest Hades. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he felt was searing pain in the middle of his back! He roared and leapt away from it, banging into the bars on the other side of the cage with sufficient force to knock the breath from his body. He dropped to the floor, winded, and he heard a voice from a thousand miles away gasp "Oooohhh." With horror, he realized that it was his own.

"Dr. Gould!" Hughes cried as he came running in. "What did you do?" His eyes fell on the stun gun with a gasp, and he grabbed it away from Gould, saying that Gould was a professor, for Heaven's sake, and not an inhumane torturer.

_Too late if you're trying to convince him not to become one,_ Vincent reflected from his supine position. _Oh, my back. Oh, my head. Oh, my bruised and battered dignity._

"Well, it worked, even though it wasn't a cattle prod," Gould said, letting Hughes take it away from him at last. "And don't look at me like that, it was at the lowest setting. All it did was sting him. He did say something."

_All it did was "sting" me?_ Vincent thought incredulously. _Tell that to my back!_

"What did he say?" Hughes asked, turning the stunner off.

"He moaned 'oh.' It was just a moan, but it was a human and fully intelligible moan. Now all we have to do is get him to say other things and determine if he has expressive and receptive language," Gould told him, sounding very excited by the prospect. "We've already seen his expressions, so he expresses himself, but I would like to see if he has _words_. Think of it, Hughes! A beast that acts like a human and speaks human words! It will make both of our careers!"

_Oh, I have words for you,_ Vincent thought, wishing he could have the man's neck between his hands. _Heartless mercenary! Inhuman scientist! Faustian satyr! Let me know when I impress you, I could go all day!_

"I'm going to go and get some more food for him, see if I can bribe him into speaking with it," Gould said. "You keep an eye on him, all right?"

Hughes waited until Gould was well away, and he turned to Vincent. "Are you all right?" he asked, his concern plain to see.

"For a beast that may or may not have human words, I'm fine," Vincent told him, sitting up. "My back feels as if I have been stabbed with a flaming torch and my head feels as if it's been hit with a subway train, and my dignity is in miniscule shreds, but I'm fine. I know that stun gun was his idea, so I'm not that angry with you."

"Not that angry?" Hughes repeated. "What did I do that you're angry?"

"I think the word 'cage' has something to do with it," Vincent growled. "Let me out of here, or I swear I'll go mad!"

"I can't let you out," Hughes told him. "We've been through this."

"Oh, yes, you can," Vincent told him, getting to his feet. "You just won't. Despite your kind demeanor, you can't help thinking of how I'll…how did Dr. Gould put it? Oh yes, how I'll make your career. You wish to be kind to me, but you won't be kind enough to let me go."

Hughes didn't say anything, and that was when Dr. Gould returned. He had, of all things, a plate of raw meat. Vincent recoiled from it and would not speak no matter how often Gould offered it to him. The smell of raw meat had always bothered him, and the very idea of eating it was repugnant.

"Maybe he likes his meat cooked?" Hughes suggested.

"Or maybe he is determined not to talk to us. I know you understand us and that you are able to speak, so I'll tell you what," he said, addressing Vincent directly. "You'll eat only when you talk to us."

"Sir, what if he really can't speak?" Hughes protested. "What if he doesn't understand?"

"Oh, I think he does," Gould said, removing all the food from the cage and moving out of Vincent's grasping range with alacrity. "He'll get hungry enough to talk, I promise you."

Gould left the room, and Hughes turned to Vincent. "Look, just talk to him," he pleaded. "You don't have to starve yourself."

"Well, he's the one who took it, so who exactly is starving me?" Vincent replied, glaring at Hughes. "I wouldn't eat raw meat anyway, or that fruit. Raw meat is disgusting and barbaric and most of that fruit was spoiled. I was being starved even with that stuff you call food. I couldn't possibly have eaten it."

"Just…talk to him," Hughes pleaded again. "I won't be able to bring you anything to eat since he'll be watching me. I don't want you to suffer needlessly."

"What do you call this?" Vincent demanded, motioning to the cage. "Something for my own good? Hmm?"

Hughes turned away, spotted the tape recorder, and realized that it had been on that whole time. He removed the tape and showed it to Vincent.

"I'm surprised we both forgot this was on," he said, holding up the tape. "Tell you what. I won't play this for Dr. Gould if you speak to him on your own."

"If he hears it, he'll realize that you've spoken to me before," Vincent pointed out.

"He doesn't have to hear all of it," Hughes countered. "Think about it." He left, tucking the tape into a pocket, and Vincent wondered what to do.

Space

Catherine stared at the tabloid cover, wondering if it had to do anything with Vincent.

"GRANNY SPOTS BEAST IN CENTRAL PARK THROUGH TELESCOPE!"

Even though she hated tabloids and the lurid reporting they did, she bought a copy and hurried with it to her apartment, having called off from work. She'd gone to the newsstand on a hunch, feeling that if someone had seen Vincent, the media would have found out about it somehow. Hopefully, this tabloid article was her clue. Once back in her apartment, she read through it once, then twice. Certain that it was about Vincent, she rushed downstairs to the basement and started tapping on a pipe to let Father know that she had a possible lead. She kept her message short and to the point: "Possible lead. Am checking it out. Will report once I know something definite. Catherine." She knew that someone down Below would hear it and report directly to Father.

Since she worked in the DA's office, she knew several ways of tracking people down. Using one of those ways, she found out where this old woman lived. Mrs. Anna Lausch lived in an apartment in one of the buildings near Central Park, and according to the tabloid article, she watched Central Park through her telescope. That was how she'd spotted a "beast" running through the park. Catherine drove straight there and took the elevator up to talk with this woman.

When the tabloid had described her as a "granny," they hadn't been exaggerating. Catherine was reminded strongly of her grandmother or anyone's grandmother: small, white-haired, sweater-wearing, smiling old lady. That summed up Anna Lausch. Catherine introduced herself as an investigator and said she'd come to investigate the story in the tabloid. Was it true, she asked, that Mrs. Lausch had actually seen a monster in the park?

"Of course it's true!" the old woman insisted, pouring tea into two mugs. "I've seen him more than once, but I could tell even from a distance that he's a gentle beast. He's not a monster at all. I've seen him help baby birds back into their nests and sprinkle crumbs for the parents to find. If anyone comes along he hides very quickly, but I've seen him, that's the truth."

Catherine found herself smiling. That sounded like her Vincent.

Then, she realized what else she could have seen. "Did you ever see where he came from or where he goes?" Catherine asked, fighting down a sudden feeling of panic. What if she'd seen where Vincent entered the Tunnels?

"No, I never have," Mrs. Lausch said, pouring honey into her cup of tea. "That's what I told those scientists who came by here and asked me about him a few days ago. I told them I didn't know where he came from, he just showed up some times."

"Scientists were here asking about him?" Catherine asked, feeling her heart lurch. Scientists? Oh, dear God...

"Yes, a Dr. Hughes and Dr. Gould. Said they were anthropoligists at Columbia, I think. Hughes was more his student, I think, but still, I liked him better than Dr. Gould. That man gave me shivers! They asked all sorts of questions about him and then they went away. I saw them in the park later looking around--I saw them through my telescope--but they didn't find much, I can tell you."

"And where exactly were they looking?" Catherine asked, going to the window.

Mrs. Lausch was all too happy to point the spot out to her and let her see it through the telescope. Catherine thanked her and headed straight there, determined to see if there was anything she could find that could lead her to Vincent.

For a few minutes, she didn't see anything, but then she saw the first dart, lying underneath a bush. It was silver and had an orange fluffy fletching, reminding her of a carrot with a color problem. The second dart was not far from the first, and she realized that they could definitely been used on Vincent. All the evidence pointed that way.

All right, so she now had a probable idea what had happened to Vincent. Now she had to track down Professors Hughes and Gould. They could probably tell her where he was now.

Space

Vincent fell back asleep shortly after Hughes left, and he wondered if he had some kind of drug still in his system. His mind was always foggy and he couldn't focus too long on any one thought, and it was so easy to sleep. While he slept, he dreamed of Catherine, and he wished beyond all else that he could see her and feel her arms wrap about him just once. That wishing turned into reality in his dream, as she stepped close and enveloped him in an embrace.

He knew it was a dream, and oh, how he wished it wasn't! "Catherine," he said, wishing to tell her how much he longed to be free and by her side again.

"Catherine?" she said in a man's voice, and Vincent came back to waking with a start. Looking up through the bars, he saw Hughes, and he realized that he was still in a cage in hell.

"What?" Vincent said, too tired to be angry with Hughes.

"You spoke the name Catherine," Hughes persisted, kneeling down next to the cage. "Who is Catherine?"

Vincent didn't know how to describe Catherine to this man. It felt almost as if he were polluting his thoughts of her by doing so, but speaking the words aloud was too irresistible for him. Saying the words aloud to himself had always left him with a feeling of peace and quiet joy, so perhaps it would do the same now.

"She is a woman of warmth and beauty and courage, and she is the kindest person I have ever known. I am never happier than when I am with her, for she sees me for who I am, and not what I am."

Hughes looked at him. "Does she look like you?"

Vincent shook his head. "No, she does not. She is beautiful, and she brings sunlight into my life."

"Ah," Hughes said, getting to his feet. "You're in love."

Vincent looked at him, but he said nothing.

"Does she come from where you do? Does she live in the same place?"

"No. She comes from this place. New York."

"Oh."

Vincent watched while Hughes made notes on a clipboard, and then decided to speak. "How long do you plan to keep me? Just what do you plan to do with me?"

"Dr. Gould plans to unveil you to the scientific community as a great discovery," Hughes told him, not looking up from his clipboard. "He doesn't intend to let you go since his work with you will--"

"Make his career," Vincent finished, frustrated. "And what about you? Aren't you a professor yourself?"

"I'm a professor, but I'm more Dr. Gould's student. It's a complicated arrangement, but it works for both of us. I came to work with him in order to learn more about the field. He's the top in anthropology in the States at this time."

"When does the great unveiling take place?" Vincent wanted to know, fighting down a feeling of fear. He did not want to be stuck in a cage with people staring in at him! It was bad enough now!

"When we've learned all we can about you," Hughes said as he tucked some papers away. "Not before."

"Listen to me. I'm dying," Vincent said, holding onto the bars of the cage and looking at Hughes entreatingly. "There is only me. I am only what I am. If you cut me I will bleed. If you strike me I will strike back, and if you keep me in chains I will die."

Hughes looked at him with something like compassion in his face. "I can't say I know how you must feel, but Gould is determined to keep you for a while. Perhaps later, if you can convince him that you don't need to be locked up he will let you out, but he doesn't intend to let you go, and I don't, either. You have to understand that."

Vincent said nothing, but he allowed his head to sag against the bars, the picture of defeat and despair.

"Well done, Hughes," Gould said, coming out from behind the door to the other room. "I knew you would get him talking. You're so personable."

Vincent looked up, horrified. Oh, he should have thought to check for Gould before speaking!

"Well, now that I know that you talk and you know that I know, let's have a chat," Gould said, smiling coldly. That cold smile went straight to Vincent's heart, leaving him cold all over.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Amazing," Gould muttered, glaring at the man/beast he had locked in a cage. "I tell you I know you speak, yet you don't talk to me. Now, Hughes tells me you've stopped talking to him as well. Why?"

Vincent only looked at him.

"I can make things very unpleasant for you," Gould threatened. "Think about that."

Vincent only looked him in the eye, daring him to do his worst.

"I've heard you speak!" the man shouted in frustration. "You held quite an articulate conversation with Hughes, and I heard every word of it. Why have you stopped speaking now?" Gould demanded. "What is it you want to keep secret? Where you're from? Who you are? If there are others like you? _What?_"

Gould left, and Vincent allowed himself to breathe. For hours, Gould had been trying to get him to speak, and when Gould had had to leave the room, Hughes tried his hand, but not a word had passed Vincent's lips since he had been tricked earlier into speaking by the younger man. He had to keep his secrets, and now that Gould knew he could speak, that meant he had to keep silent or risk letting something slip. His mind was fogged with drugs and he was very hungry and miserable, and he couldn't take any chances of speaking. He had no choice now. More lives than his depended on his silence.

A noise made him look up, and there was Hughes, staring down at him with a very worried expression. Vincent raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "Well, what do you want?"

"You don't look good," Hughes said, sitting down in a chair across from the cage. "You really don't. Your skin's several shades paler than it was when we picked you up, and there are dark circles under your eyes. How do you feel?"

Vincent's only answer was a sigh.

"Why have you stopped talking to me?" Hughes asked, sounding regretful. "Come on. Aside from you, I have no stimulating conversation in this place. All Dr. Gould talks about is anthropology journals and awards, and that gets old very quickly," he joked, trying to get Vincent to react.

Vincent glared at him. "Your levity is ill-timed, doctor," he growled. "Right now, my temper is very, very short. I'm locked up and half-mad with hunger and drugs. My muscles are feeling the lack of exercise, I am missing fresh air acutely, this is the _longest_ in my life I have gone without a bath or at least washing my hands, and don't even get me started on the lack of plumbing in this place that has been so _nicely_ arranged for my comfort!" The few times Vincent had needed to use a toilet, the only facility he had for that was a bucket set just outside the cage. That had been excruciatingly embarrassing.

Hughes stared at him, surprised. "Well, at least I know you still speak."

Vincent wished he had something to throw at him. "Where's the Faustian satyr gone?" Since he'd thought of that list of words to impress Gould with, he'd taken to calling the older man that in his mind.

Hughes chuckled. "Faustian satyr? I like that. He's gone out for a drive. He said he needed to calm down."

"Must be nice to go out for a drive," Vincent remarked, hoping that Hughes was not so dense as to miss the irony in his voice.

"Have you ever ridden in a car?" Hughes asked, intrigued.

"Not that I remember," Vincent said, wondering if Hughes had caught his subtle hint. "What is it like?"

"I've never thought about it," Hughes said, shrugging. "It's a normal part of life for me. You drive to work, you drive home, and you drive to wherever you need to go."

Vincent nodded. "Like walking."

Vincent was silent then, thinking, and he didn't even notice when Hughes went out of the room and came back, carrying a styrofoam box that smelled terribly inviting.

"I don't care what Dr. Gould says," he said, slipping the box through the bars. "He should realize that starving you won't force you to talk to him. I got this at the cafeteria," he explained, also handing a plastic fork to Vincent, who was staring at him in surprise. "They let us get meals to go there, so I picked one up for you."

"Thank you," Vincent said gratefully, feeling his mouth water. He opened the box and saw a vision of Heaven in a double portion of chicken, broccoli, and cheddar casserole.

Hughes marveled at Vincent's restraint. Although he dug right into the food, he did not gulp it or take large mouthfuls or swallow it half-chewed. He could have eaten at the best restaurant in town and not have been wanting for manners. He sipped at the fruit juice that Hughes handed him in much the same way a sommelier would sip the finest wine. Hughes realized that he was a cultured man, an individual who would not allow hunger to master him. Apparently, he had been raised by someone who insisted on good manners and polite behavior.

That knowledge only made Hughes wonder more. Who had raised him? Where was this person now? Where had they lived? What else had this man taught? He wanted to know all about the individual sitting in front of him, but he still did not know his name.

As Vincent finished the meal with a contented sigh, he wondered if he should keep quiet or do what he wanted to do. Hughes, despite not letting him go, was a human being who was kind, and surely that kindness deserved a little consideration?

"Please don't tell Gould, but my name is Vincent," he said at last, his nobler propensities winning out.

"Vincent?"

Vincent nodded. "Yes. I was named for the hospital, because that's where I was found. Someone found me there and took me to the man who would become my father. He taught me everything, and he is most likely very worried that I've been gone so long." He closed up the now-empty foam box and handed it through the bars to Hughes.

"Where did you and he live while you were growing up?"

"The same place we live now--the safest place in the world."

Hughes threw the box away and did not continue asking questions about that place since he knew that Vincent wouldn't answer them.

"You sound very educated," he said, sitting back down.

"My father is a very educated man," Vincent told him, leaning back against the bars of the cage. "It's only natural I should pick some of that up."

"What did he teach you?" Hughes couldn't keep from asking; the possibilities were too fascinating.

"He taught me to read and write, of course, and he read to me and with me. I've learned about the world, but mostly from his stories about it and from what I read in books. I've read every book that was available to us, and that is quite a number of them. He taught me how to interact with people, and he taught me how to be what he called a gentleman. He said he wasn't going to have an ill-mannered person for a son," he chuckled. "He even taught me what pieces of silverware to use at a formal dinner with twenty courses, but I doubt I'll ever have to use that knowledge. Can you see me in a tuxedo in a formal party? The guests would be so shocked they would ignore their _aperitifs_."

"Sounds like your father is used to a very fine life. Is he rich?"

"Not in money," Vincent explained. "He is rich in compassion, love, knowledge, skill, and consideration, but he doesn't have money. Money isn't something we need."

"Everyone needs money," Hughes protested. "How do you get food and clothes and things like that?"

"We manage," Vincent said, and he said it in such a way that Hughes knew it would be pointless to persist in asking. Vincent wouldn't tell him just how they managed.

"What's your favorite book?" Hughes asked, ready to switch topics.

"That changes all the time," Vincent said, smiling. "Just now I've been reading Dickens' _Hard Times_ and Tolstoy's _Anna Karenina_, and I've been enjoying some of Jean Racine's poetry. I've translated a few of his poems into English for those who don't understand French, but it is slow going."

"You speak French?"

Vincent nodded. "And some Russian. There were language books in the books we have, and I used those to learn from."

Hughes looked positively dazzled. Vincent sounded like a man he could spend years with and still find something to surprise him. He was clearly a scholar of the top sort: one who enjoyed learning, and if possible, enjoyed teaching and sharing his knowledge with others. It was rare one found both in the same person.

A noise in the outer room made them both aware of Gould's arrival, and they had to stop their conversation.

Space

Catherine stared up at the anthropology building and wondered if she could find those two men in that behemoth. There were close to ten floors and there were three wings, and she had to find Vincent in all of that. Shouldering her purse and gathering her courage, she walked up the steps and into the front door.

A directory in the lobby showed her where Dr. Gould was, and his associate, Dr. Hughes. Now, if she could just manage not to get lost, she would find them without a problem and learn if they had Vincent or if they knew where he was. While she was in the elevator she wondered what they had been doing with Vincent if they actually had him. There would be examinations, but what else would they do with him? Surely it would not take them long to realize that Vincent was not a beast and could not be kept locked up!

_Then again, who's to say they'll realize what Vincent is?_ she thought to herself. _He is what he is, but he's also a man, and that man is the most important one in the world to me. They'll probably just see a beast and not bother looking deeper. The more fools, they._

With a ping the elevator door opened, and Catherine stepped out into a shiny-floored hallway. Papers hung from a bulletin board on the right, and a directory hanging next to it pointed the way to Dr. Gould's office. She took a sharp left and headed down the hall, looking for the room numbers all the while. Finally, on a door marked 408, she found the names she'd been looking for: Dr. Gould, Doctorate of Anthropology, and Dr. Hughes, also a doctor. She knocked, praying that someone was there.

The door was opened by a very grouchy-looking older man, and in the room beyond was a slightly younger man, wearing glasses and a puzzled expression.

"Yes?" the older man snapped.

"Dr. Gould? My name's Catherine Chandler, and I'm from the New York D.A.'s office," Catherine said, suddenly thinking up a reason for her coming here that the men would believe. "I'm doing some follow-up on the slasher case, and someone told me that you might have some information for me."

"What information?" Gould demanded, but he stood aside and let her into the office.

"Well, someone said that you captured someone dressed like a creature, and that description sounded very much like our slasher," Catherine told him. "My informant asked not to be revealed, but he said I could find out from you."

Gould chuckled, and she decided she did not like him one little bit. He made her feel slimy.

"Do you think we have a man dressed up as a monster in our lab somewhere?" he asked, giving her a wink. "No, Miss Chandler, we do not. We are scientists, not vigilante hunters."

"Well, have you seen or heard of anything unusual? Anything at all?" she persisted, hoping against hope that he would be honest with her. "Anything, even the smallest thing, would be a great help to me. This case is very important."

"I'm sorry, Miss Chandler, I can't help you, but if I _do _learn anything, I'll be sure to let you know," he said, opening the door in what was clearly a dismissal. "Have a pleasant day."

"Thank you," Catherine said, and she left, ready to scream. How could she have been so monumentally stupid by asking direct questions about anything they may have captured? Of course they wouldn't tell her! She had to get back to that lab somehow, prefereably when both men were out.

Space

Vincent was asleep when Gould and Hughes came back in, and when he opened his eyes, it was to find Gould staring down at him, grinning.

"We just received a visit from a young woman named Catherine," he said, looking delighted. "Friend of yours?"

Vincent could not have spoken even if he'd wanted to. His throat had closed with fear and worry for Catherine.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After Catherine's visit, Vincent's life entered a period worse than the cage: restraints. Shortly after Catherine had visited the lab, Gould had given him another shot of sedative that left him limp and unable even to protest. Gould put a harness around his torso and straps connected it to the bars of the cage, leaving him unable to move further than a foot away from his present position. Then, Gould put a wide belt around his waist, and straps and buckles confined his arms, leaving him unable to raise his hands.

"Sir, is that necessary?" Hughes asked, surprised.

"Completely necessary," Gould told him, fixing an IV to Vincent's arm. "I don't know why we didn't do this before. Now, if we need to take a sample of any kind from him we won't have to chase him around the cage, and it makes him unable to attack either of us."

"What's the IV for?"

"That is so we can keep him hydrated and nourished, and it keeps a steady supply of sedative in his system. He's going to be as quiet as a sleeping baby until we can unveil him."

Vincent just lay where he had been shifted, horrified. How was he going to get away if he were sedated all the time?

"Now," Gould said, rising to his feet. "Let's do some more work, shall we? I have a feeling that that Catherine person is going to come back and make trouble, and I would like to have some more findings to present before she does."

What followed next was at one remove from Vincent's awareness. He knew he was hooked up to more equipment, he felt them take another blood sample, and a few things happened that he wasn't sure of. He wasn't feeling at all like himself, and he was certain that if they began to ask him questions, he might just answer them.

"Well, it looks like our preliminary tests were wrong," he heard Gould saying. "It turns out that his physiology has more in common with an animal than a human being. How is that, though? We've heard him speak intelligently."

"Well, animals do have intelligence," Hughes said.

"Yes, but not comparable to that of humans. Let's measure his synaptic responses with pictures and sounds. Let's see how he responds to human and animal stimuli."

Vincent understood very little of that, but he knew that it did not mean anything good for him. Sticky patches attatched to wires running out of a computer were placed all over his head and scalp, irritating his skin and pulling his hair. He heard various sounds: human voices, singing, talking, shouting, screaming, laughing, and crying; tapes of people speaking in other languages; animal sounds, roars and growls and whistles and calls; and music, mechanical sounds, various other noises he couldn't identify, and weeping. He was fairly certain that the weeping had been him. Then, his head was strapped to the side of the cage so he could not move it or look anywhere but straight ahead, and he saw dozens of images flashed onto a screen in front of him. There were people, animals, plants, pictures of the city, pictures of various forests, and countless pictures of various objects. Then the worst happened: there were pictures of people being mauled by animals, and animals being killed by people. He felt physically ill. What did they think would happen when he saw those? Why were they even showing him them in the first place? He wanted nothing more than to go home and forget all of this and never have to have anything to do with any of this ever again!

He fell asleep at one point, and he woke when Gould banged something down on the table.

"I hardly see how his reaction to books has anything to do with this, Hughes!" the man snapped.

"It shows that he's seen them before and has an interest in them," Hughes countered. "That means he's intelligent, and he has a personality. A _human_ personality, as I said before. That means we can't keep him in a cage like an animal!"

"Perhaps you don't remember how he grabbed my throat?" Gould asked. "He'd maul us if we let him out!"

"He can speak, Dr. Gould!" Hughes said, pounding his hand on the table for emphasis. "He has reason, and I think we should actually try treating him as a man instead of an animal!"

"_Look _at him!" Gould shouted. "Can you call _that_ a _man_?"

Hughes was silent, at a loss to explain Vincent's unique visage.

"That is always the crux of the problem, doctor," Vincent rasped, fighting against the sedative. "I have always looked like this, so I have always had to hide from the rest of humanity. I am a man, and you have put me in a cage. You think me an animal because I resemble one, and there have been times I have had to behave like one to protect myself and those I love, but I am not someone you can keep locked up. What can I do or say to prove it to you? Quote Shakespeare? Draw a copy of the Mona Lisa or one of Raphael's Madonna? Recite something from Rilke or Frost? Have you listen to my heart? Show you I bleed? What?"

Both men stared at him.

"I am dying in this cage, and I am starting to think that death would be prefereable to this continued imprisonment," Vincent continued, fighting against the dryness in his throat. "Please. Let me go."

Gould stared at him, and then Vincent saw his eyes harden. "Hughes, watch him. I'm going to get the department heads. We've waited too long to show them this." He left, glaring at Vincent, letting his captive know that there was no hope for him.

Hughes unstrapped Vincent's head, muttering to himself. Then, he looked carefully at Vincent's eyes. "Are you all right?"

"If the department heads see me..." Vincent began, but Hughes interrupted him.

"They're not going to," Hughes told him. "Don't worry."

"What do you mean?"

Hughes allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face. "They're going to find an empty lab. Don't worry, like I said."

Vincent allowed himself to sink back into quasi-oblivion then. He couldn't think or fight or reason anymore, and he found himself no longer caring. It didn't seem as if Hughes was going to let him go, and that made him more depressed than anything else. He saw blackness at one point, and he wondered if that was a representation of his inner despair manifesting itself or if the world had really turned black around him. It would be a fitting tribute to his unveiling to the department heads.

"Vincent?" he heard Hughes say an eternity later. "Vincent? I've stopped the IV and the sedative, and you should be waking up by now. Can you let me know that you're all right?"

Vincent felt his eyes blink in response, but he couldn't do more than that.

"Come on, try to move a little. It'll get easier as you go along."

Vincent tried as he asked, and despite feeling like a wet bag of cement, he did find it growing easier to move. Slowly, he was able to sit up and look around, puzzled by all the changes. "What happened to the room? Where did all of the equipment go and all these boxes come from?"

"We're in a very little-used storeroom in the basement. I covered the cage and wheeled you down here. How are you feeling?"

Vincent looked at him. "Horrendous. Thirsty, too."

"That would be from the sedative," Hughes told him, handing him a bottle of water. "You'll feel better soon."

"I hope so," Vincent remarked, not wishing to waste his breath with how he would feel so _much_ better if he could go home. He knew he couldn't really count on Hughes to let him go. He sipped at the water, telling himself that now would not be the time to make himself sick from drinking too much too fast.

"I'll be back," Hughes said, standing up.

"What if someone comes?" Vincent demanded.

"No one will. People only come down here about every three years or so for the stuff in those boxes. Don't worry."

As Dr. Hughes left, Vincent reflected on how easy it was for him to say that. After all, _he_ wasn't trapped in a cage!

Space

Catherine was fighting off a major headache. She'd been worried ever since going away from that lab, and since then, she hadn't thought of a way she could get in and look around. She knew those two men knew something about Vincent, but how could she find out what that was and where Vincent was now?

She'd taken off from work for the next week, claiming that she had an awful case of the flu. Fortunately, Joe had believed her and wished her well, saying that he would see her when she got back to work. Now, she had hours and hours in which to find Vincent, but her search had reached a dead end! All she could do now was wait in her apartment until dark and see if she could find some way to break into the lab. She might be arrested, but it would be worth it! The thought of Vincent in the clutches of scientists...

The phone rang, startling her out of her recollections and sending her headache into overdrive. Wincing, she picked up the receiver and cursed the makers of the telephone for creating such a shrill signal. "Hello?"

"Ms. Chandler? This is Professor Hughes."

"Professor Hughes? Oh, good!" Catherine fought to keep her tone professional when she longed to scream into the phone instead. Screaming "Where is he? What have you monsters done with him?" would not help her cause at all. "Have you remembered anything that could help the slasher case?"

"I know you didn't come here about the slasher case," Hughes said abruptly. "Listen carefully. I would like you to come to the back of the side of the anthropology building at eleven-thirty tonight. I'll take you to him."

Catherine's voice died, but she didn't need to say anything anyway. Hughes had hung up, and she was left with the receiver dangling in her hand. _I'll take you to him._ Hughes had to be talking about Vincent!

Feeling unable to sit still, Catherine went to her balcony, the place where she and Vincent spent so much time together in the open air. As she watched the sun set, she heard her voice. "Vincent, be safe." Those words reminded her how time was passing, so she went back inside to get ready to go.


End file.
